


Caravanning convictions, or lack thereof

by Isailaway



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28692696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isailaway/pseuds/Isailaway
Summary: A trip to Clacton-on-Sea
Relationships: Camille Bordey/Richard Poole
Comments: 20
Kudos: 27





	Caravanning convictions, or lack thereof

What on gods earth had he been thinking. 

Let’s face it, he hadn’t been thinking at all, merely reacting. Setting a dangerous precedent which he would have to work really hard to avoid repeating. Richard rubbed his face roughly as another droplet of water hit his forehead, gravity taking it on a slow journey towards his ear. 

Outside sheets of hail were hitting the east coast, noisy pellets striking and bouncing off the thin metal roof above him. The hail was currently vying with the wind rattling at the windows for which was more successful at drowning out the sound of the shipping forecast he’d tuned into on the small radio. 

So much for spring being a good time to travel to England. 

Uggghhhh. This was the very last time he was ever going to put himself out there and listen to the nagging voice in his head which had encouraged him to be more open with his feelings and follow through on his crazy proposal. He’d been suffering from an actual head injury when the invitation had been extended, there had been plenty of leeway to back out. Actually not back out, he corrected himself, there had been no need to even mention it again. He could simply have forgotten the offer had existed beyond the boundaries of his own brain. No one would have been any the wiser. It wasn’t as if she had taken him seriously when he first mentioned it. Richard frowned, at least he didn’t think she had. His memories of that night were admittedly slightly fuzzy around the edges. Head injury, he reminded himself again. Nothing to do with the warm glow that bloomed beneath his ribs whenever he thought about the candlelit evening with the wind howling through the tall palm trees outside, the slightly sticky tropical night. Her warm smile and gentle teasing and the soft skin of her face beneath his hand. 

Nope, his memories were definitely confused by the blow he’d taken to the head. 

And now look where being brave had got him. He was a complete fool and not even a young one. 

He flicked off the radio and tipped his head back to look up at the faded ceiling, growling in frustration then stamping his foot petulantly when a drip of cold water hit him directly in one eye. They certainly never mentioned this on the adverts. 

Come to Martello Beach they said. Skip straight out of your caravan onto seven miles of glorious sands they said. Perfect for exploring the vibrant seaside resort of Clacton-on-Sea. Ideally situated for a brilliantly fun holiday with your loved ones. It even had historical interest in the form of a Martello tower right there on site. Open to the public for a small fee and with hosts to welcome you and answer any questions. Reading about it, sat behind his desk on St Marie, Richard had allowed himself a chuckle, imagining that it could be their special sort of inside joke. Something to giggle about as they explored the fortification built to repel the French Invaders. He could come up with some clever comment about how his very own fortifications had failed and..... 

But no. What he was currently sat in was a cold and damp tin can, the condensation building faster than he could wipe it away. No heating that worked and ugly looking stains on the carpet, of what he didn’t really wish to contemplate. The drive through Clacton in their small hire car had been depressing, all the brightly lit memories of his youth tarnished and the weather, even for an Englishman who sweat if he so much as glanced at the sun, remained horrible. Even their arrival at the caravan site had been dispiriting, the state of disrepair with security fencing and boarded up buildings looking nothing like the YouTube adverts he’d watched when booking the trip. 

Normally, the regulations preventing cars from parking anywhere else but at the entrance to the site would have satisfied Richards love of clear guidelines. This morning it had merely dampened his mood further, struggling with his suitcase against the wind and feeling somehow lacking when Camille had flung her beaten leather weekend bag across her shoulders and strode ahead of him, a smile on her face. 

Walking around the park, the swimming pool had filled him with dread, screaming kids dive-bombing and splashing wildly. It was cold too, if their cries were to be believed. The game arcade leaked white noise out across a padlocked children’s play park and the toilet block, which thank the lord he didn’t have to use, was festooned with out of order signs. He could have had any other job in the world and still felt that the smell and the dirty water leaking out of the entrance might have clued him into them being out of action. Far from the summer idyll remembered from his childhood, the place was, well it simply wasn’t somewhere that would impress. 

Not that he wanted to impress of course. This was simply what friends did, extend invitations to one another. And she did keep insisting they were now friends. 

Richard huffed loudly, pacing back and forth in the van, the background noise of hail rising and falling with each gust of wind. 

Thank goodness he hadn’t actually gone as far as propositioning her. He’d saved himself that embarrassment. It really didn’t bear visualising. She was beautiful and vivacious and intelligent and young and... and even if he was thinking about her in that way, what would he have to offer when she could have the world at her feet. Their working relationship would have been ruined had he tried to put into words how he felt. He would have got it all wrong. 

No, better to somehow salvage the week and put a stop to his imaginings now. 

*****

A rush of cold air refocused his attention as Camille catapulted herself into the caravan, pulling the door shut behind her in one speedy move. 

“Oh my word, it’s lively out there.” She grinned ruefully, tugging off her jacket and hanging it on the hook behind the door. “How you managed to get me to agree to this trip is beyond me. It must have been witchcraft.”

Richard stared as she bent forwards, then flipped her head back to rid it of rain droplets, curls bouncing across her shoulders. The sinking feeling in his stomach increased, she was confirming his supposition. 

“Richard?” She paused wiping the water from her face to peer at him, eyes searching for his. He avoided her gaze. “What’s wrong, has something happened?” 

Walking towards him, apparently determined to capture his line of vision, her frown deepened as he ducked his head and stepped backward. “No, no. I’m just really tired this evening. I think I’ll turn in for the night.” 

“Oh.” She stopped moving. 

Richard waited a second but any conversation she might have been about to start had dried up. He nodded politely and retreated into the smaller of the two bedrooms in the large static caravan, closing the door firmly behind him. 

*****

Sometime during the night, the wind calmed, the hail showers dwindled and eyes burning he put his book aside and finally managed a few hours of restless sleep filled with dreams he couldn’t quite grasp hold of. 

They sat either side of the small square table in the caravan for breakfast, the day outside dull and grey but reassuringly dry. Camille initially appeared subdued, watching him silently as she sipped her coffee but appeared to brighten when he read out the options for the day and between them they agreed on trying the holiday resorts indoor spa, followed by a pre-booked visit to the Martello Tower. 

The spa was shut. 

Some strange contaminant in the water system, the member of staff had patiently attempted to explain. He was less patient after Richards in-depth questioning about the filtration system, whether they used chlorine or bromine, if they’d considered adding a UV filter to the set up and whether they made clients shower to remove any make up, sweat and perfume before entering. Camille had rolled her eyes and left them to their discussion, wandering into the holiday parks amusement arcade. Richard found her there half an hour later, kicking the latest machine to have swallowed her money and dragged her out to eat a disappointing sandwich at one of the picnic tables by the sites cafe. 

Jaywick Martello Tower, Richard decided, was sent to torture him. Camille had seemingly put her money losses and the lack of spa facilities behind her and airily linked arms with him as they entered the cement rendered building, sat squat in its landscape. The welcome host, fixed smile pinned to his face, looked at him, across at her and then back with a judgement in his eyes. ‘Yes!’ Richard wanted to shout out at him, ‘she’s out of my league. I know!’ But he gritted his teeth and directed his attention to his companion who was enthusing cheerfully about the artwork mounted on the walls, tugging him over to examine them. 

Since it appeared to be a quiet day, their admittedly knowledgable host shadowed them around the small space and up the whitewashed brick lined staircase. He was sure the man must have a special insight into his wild imaginings. Every comment about French/English relations down the centuries appeared laced with innuendo and Richards failure to see the funny side after one such comment whilst stood by the cannon on the small balconied area had him snapping at both the guide and then Camille. 

They were well on their way to a full blown argument by the time they exited the building, interrupted by a large family group. Four young children with their parents and a large dog who jumped up at them enthusiastically. Camille ruffled the Red Setters fine coat and stopped to chat politely with the family, whilst Richard stalked ahead trying desperately to forget ever contemplating asking his DS out. 

Tensions were easing by the time they ventured outside once more, two hours later to eat. The food options were limited to burgers, pizza and a reheated lasagna which would have sent Richard spiralling back into a state of despondency but he couldn’t take his eyes off Camille who was providing a running commentary on the mildly incompetent waiting staff that she could see over his shoulder. She had surprised him by dressing up for the evening, wearing a deep blue wrap around type of dress that he didn’t know how to describe, but fit her perfectly. She looked stunning and whilst they probably stuck out like a sore thumb in a restaurant full of casually attired holidaymakers, Richard couldn’t bring himself to care about that, or the poorly trained staff, or the food.

They merrily disputed whether the Martello towers would have been able to withstand the power of the Napoleonic Invasion fleet given that none of them had been tested in combat, Camille threatening to return the following day to put the question to whichever volunteer was on duty and when she once again linked arms with him during their walk back to the caravan, Richard struggled to remember any negatives to the day. He lay awake a long time staring blankly at the ceiling as he replayed her chastely kissing his cheek as they parted to head to their bedrooms. 

*****

A mile or so into their walk along the beach the following morning, he noticed Camille starting to shiver. He frowned and picked up the pace, calling over his shoulder “If we walk faster, you’ll warm up a little!” 

He could hear her muttering a response, but couldn’t make out the words and few paces later she caught up with him. 

“Did you know the colour of the sea really is blue?” He attempted to distract.

“Looks like a remarkably cold shade of grey to me” she replied irritably. 

“No, as you dive deeper beneath the surface and light can no longer bounce back off the sea floor it appears more and more blue and that’s because the water molecules absorb all the longer wavelength light like red and orange light, leaving the blue for us to see.” 

“Richard, as interesting as all this is, I’m getting really cold.” She retorted, hugging her arms around her body. 

He looked down at himself, dressed as he was for the British spring in cable knit jumper and light windbreaker and frowned. “I could give you-” he gestured at his jacket, trailing off as she shook her head in response.

“I don’t need you getting hypothermia by giving me your coat, I’d rather go back, - or share body heat?”

“I’d really like to make it as far as the pier if we could.” He replied, skipping over her discombobulating suggestion. “But if you’re really that cold then yes, we should turn back and drive the car into town later on. He lifted an arm to check his watch, “we will still have plenty of time if we decide now.” 

Her answer was a clipped “No”, and she set off walking quickly once more. “Let’s keep going.” He followed on, trying to make sense of the exchange.

Half an hour of brisk walking had them reaching the pier, passing only a few hardy dog walkers along the way. The sun was trying its best to shine through a layer of cloud and bring some much needed warmth to the day, filling Richard with some confidence right until he saw the sign mounted on the metal shutters that covered the piers main entrance. Closed due to renovation. An A4 laminated printout showed them images of a collapse that had happened two months previously and detailed the plans for renovation. 

“I don’t believe this.” His heart sank into his boots. 

Camille crossed her arms, tucking her hands into her body and scanned around for options. “Well we could find-”

“I mean really. This whole trip is a nightmare. Why did I ever think that-, Is this some great celestial joke?” He paced along the front of the pier, past the bowling alley and a bar and grill, both dark and empty. 

“Richard wait up.”

Camille ran up behind him, reaching a hand out to clutch at his arm. He shook her off, marching over to a set of iron railings and leaned over to look down at the mix of sand, pebbles and sea weed tangled around the pier struts. Gaze sweeping, he could see plastic milk cartons, beer cans, some half empty McDonalds packaging, a tatty trainer and the corner of an old shopping trolley, all without lifting his head. 

“We shouldn’t have come.” He sighed. 

“What?” 

“Caravanning. In England. With you. It was a bad idea and I’m sorry.” He raised his head slowly to look at her, she was glaring at him, eyes filled with an emotion he couldn’t read. 

He shrugged his shoulders beseechingly, unsure how else to express himself, watching and waiting to hear how she would reply. Camille breathed deeply, the seconds ticking by as she evidently aborted numerous attempts to form a response. 

“I don’t understand you.” She finally began. “A hurricane on St Marie, that kills at least eight people and you wander around bullishly like it’s a mild inconvenience. A seemingly perfect crime and you determinedly pick and pick at the seams until one gives way and you solve the case.” 

She gestured frustratedly with her hand, close enough for him to catch a hint of her perfume.

“And yet here we are in England. We, not you. I came with you. In very average weather, to a place which holds some sort of fond childhood memory for you but could not be thought of as most people’s first choice of destination. We’ve argued all the way through the guided tour of that Tower-”

“Debated” 

She scowled. “Argued. We’ve eaten awful food and lost money in a half derelict arcade. We’ve been half frozen to death walking all this way along the beach to find a partially collapsed pier and frankly there’s an awful smell from the campsite toilet block which appears to be all pervading.”

“All true.” 

“But I’m still here. And until right now, the thought of flying straight back home had not occurred to me. Now apply your massive detectives brain to that and tell me why you think that would be?”

“Sheer insanity?” He deflected, uncomfortable with the direction her words had suddenly taken. 

“Richard!” She stamped her foot, angrily. 

“Oh I don’t know Camille. That’s the bloody problem. I don’t know.” He took a breath, trying to relax his tense shoulders as he spoke honestly. “You’re such a kind, considerate, caring person that I mostly believe you’re trying to humour me. Why else would someone such as yourself put up with me?” 

“Yes, why would I?” She pressed, closer now. “Do I tend to humour people a lot?

“Well no.” 

“So?” She drew the word out.

He shrugged a shoulder awkwardly, trying to tamp down the dangerous emotion in his chest. He swallowed the queasy feeling. 

“For heavens sake Richard, please don’t make me spell it out for you. That would be excruciating for both of us.” 

“You like me?”

“Yes!” Camille exclaimed noisily, flinging her hands up in the air. “That really wasn’t that difficult was it. Although, I’m not a teenager so don’t start asking if I like like you.”

“What?” He asked, bewildered. A thousand conflicting sensations racing through him. 

“Never mind,” her face relaxed into a warm smile, batting the question away with one hand. “I like you. Depressing British holidays, buttoned up shirts and ties and infuriating stubbornness and all.”

“I like you too.” He forced the words out, heart pounding. 

Camille nodded. “Good to know. Now forget the pier. Are you going to find somewhere nice and warm to take me for lunch or-” she broke off as Richard stepped forward and kissed her, taking them both by surprise.

His brain caught up with his actions only as Camille began to reciprocate, slipping a cold hand up around his neck to drag him in closer. He pulled away, eyes darting left and right for fear he was making a spectacle but his focus was inexorably drawn back to her as she stared with wide eyes, sucking gently on her bottom lip. 

God she was beautiful. 

Reservations abandoned, he tugged her into him, stumbling slightly as he backed up against the iron railing which separated them from the drop to the beach. She giggled against his lips then sighed as he threaded a hand into her hair, and parted his lips to deepen the kiss. The sound sent shivers running along his spine and Richard was instantly intent on trying to elicit more reactions. Nipping gently at her lip released a quiet moan, exploring the roof of her mouth with his tongue had her scratching restlessly at the back of his neck with her fingernails and running a hand lightly along the waistband of her jeans to caress the small sliver of skin revealed there resulted in her arching into his body, breasts pressed firmly against his chest. He was hyperaware only of her; lost in their universe of two.

“There’s the nice lady Mummy. Look, over there, she’s cuddling the man.” A young insistent voice nagged at him, too nearby to ignore, too loud to go unnoticed.

The bubble burst and Richard withdrew reluctantly, breaking the kiss and lowering his hands to the railing behind him. Camille fleetingly chased the movement, leaning into him before giving up with a soft huff and dropping her forehead to his shoulder. She yanked at her jumper to straighten it then slowly turned. Ten yards away, the mother they’d met at the Martello Tower was trying to tug at her small daughters hand whilst the child, feet firmly planted, was pointing back towards the two of them. Eyes meeting Richard’s, and then Camille's, the mother grimaced, and mouthed an apology before stooping to pick the child up, awkwardly manhandling her across to the rest of her waiting family.

“So, that was-” Camille started, gaze remaining on the retreating group.

Richard exhaled slowly. “Probably not the place for-”

“Definitely about time though.” Camille beamed as she turned back to him. “Come on, let’s walk.”

******

They set off back along the beach holding hands. Soft palm and long fingers entwined with his, Richards gaze was repeatedly drawn to the clasped palms in wonder. Camille laughed when she caught him looking for the third time, and drew her free hand across to clasp his bicep, hugging him closer in to her. He could feel the warmth of her body as they stumbled up the beach back to the holiday park, was aware of her hair prickling his neck, could hear the rasp of fabric as her jean clad hips brushed against his trousers with each step and struggled to catalogue the sensations. Every step a step was one into a new world and away from the safe space he had inhabited for so many years. 

All too soon, and yet not nearly soon enough, they were back. Richard drew to a halt, trepidation warring with a strange excitement, his impulsive kiss laid behind him. What happened now?

“What happens now?”

Camille dropped his arm, backing up towards their home for the week with a suggestive smile on her face. “Whatever you want to happen.” She fluttered her eyelashes, then looked at him again and straightened, smile morphing into an affectionate grin. 

“Look, I’m not going to tell you to stop overthinking things because, well you wouldn’t be you if you did. Why don’t we just take a step at a time-”

He stared at her, taken aback by the change in demeanour and apparent understanding “But-” 

“-We could find a nice place to eat, enjoy a meal together and then see what the rest of our trip brings?” Apparently satisfied with her speech, she spun on her heel, opening the door to the caravan and stepping up inside. 

Richard scowled, feeling oddly dismayed by the exchange despite having no right to be. She had said exactly what he would have said, or would have wanted her to say. So why-?

Shaking his head, he followed her in. 

“So, stay as we are or change clothes?” She was asking as he closed the door behind him. We’ll need to find somewhere serving a late lunch. Do you think we should drive a bit further afield?” 

“Camille?” He stood in the middle of the corridor. 

“Hmm?” Her muffled reply came from within her bedroom, sounding distracted. 

“Camille?” 

“Yup?” She popped her head around the door teal coloured shirt in one hand. “What about this?” 

“Err, what? Yes, that looks fine. But-”

She paused, studying him then dropped the shirt on the chair in the corner of the room. “But?” 

He took a deep breath. “But I don’t want to go out to eat right now.” 

“Oh?” Her eyes dropped to his lips, the motion undisguised. 

He moistened his lips and watched as she followed the movement, wide eyed. Bollocks to ‘a step at a time’.

“You know I said I never know what you’re thinking” he said, glimpsing her long leg curling sinuously around her door. 

“Yes.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he smirked, stepping forward.

“Oh, you have no idea.” She laughed out loud, grabbing a handful of his shirt and pulling him into the room. 

****THE END****

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry Clacton - I’m sure you’re beautiful but I found some poor reviews on a website and a you tube video and they worked perfectly for the purposes of my story. 
> 
> The DIP characters aren’t mine but I do hold them in a special place in my heart and hope I’ve done them justice.
> 
> Happy New Year folks - I hope you like this offering.


End file.
